


have a SIP, have a little SIPPY

by Chibimun



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Surgical Goofs and Gaffs, Weird Murder Crack, famous newgrounds series blockhead but its baldhead instead, non-detailed amputation, someone dies in this but its still intended to be comedy i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27026308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibimun/pseuds/Chibimun
Summary: It's always fun for destructive yet well-meaning ditz-types, right? That is, unless you happened to be their conscience.
Kudos: 5





	have a SIP, have a little SIPPY

**Author's Note:**

> if you havent seen blockhead watch out for the occasional slur from the newgrounds cartoon but watch blockhead. if youd rather not, a synopsis for context! blockhead is a comedy webcartoon about the titular idiot blockhead, a nonsensical usually destructive (but well-meaning) fellow with a prehensile tongue, and his conscience (portrayed as a middle aged man from jersey sitting in an armchair under a spotlight in a blank void) trying to get him to not cause as many problems as humanly possible. this usually fails.  
> this isnt of a direct lift of any episode and is more of something heavily inspired by the dialogue-focused comedy and situations presented. i hope you enjoy!

"Oh, _gooood_ morning!!"

Baldhead's eyes were open! Good morning! There are seven vertebrae in the neck, give them all a quick twist pop. Stretched out against the alley brick, there are 33 vertebrae in the spine! Pop, pop! He snatched a shiny object off the ground and shot up spinning! Scalpel! Man's best invention! This was going to be a great day!

A lamp clicks on in his mind's eye. A man in an armchair. He sits back down on reflex (hm, chair!). The man sits under a spotlight! "Patient is tall!" He held the clipboard over his head, squinting under his glasses. "Thin. Well-dressed! Seems to have an abnormally large che—"

"Patient is _you!"_ The man in the armchair sat with his head in his hands. A word came to mind: Conscience! Under closer inspection, he looked worse for wear. The clipboard fell to the ground with a little _clunk!_ before disappearing entirely.

"I'm not the patient!" Baldhead tapped his scalpel. "Self-surgery is so risky, isn't it?"  


Conscience leaned back, miserably. "Figures, you've somehow never tried to "fix" yourse—"

He shot up. "Do I need to fix something?" Hands shaking, blood pumping! Yes! "I need to go, thank you!"

"What!?" Conscience squawked. "No, no, please, just stay still!"

"I have very skillful hands!" Baldhead wobbled back up to his feet. "It's a beautiful day!"

"Yes, I know," He leaned forward. "Y-You should just sit back, and enjoy it from here! Watch it go by! Watch the sunset, when it comes!"

Conscience was ignored in favor of cheerfully striding out the alleyway. "Don't you know? There are patients to care for!"

"Please." He once again held his head in his hands. "I've seen too much of this already."

"I've seen you before!"

"You have." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm you, technically. And I keep coming back and doing this, despite you never stopping."

"Repeat visits? Do I have any of those today?" Baldhead tapped his chin absently. "I don't have any appointments."

"You also don't have a _license!_ _"_ He cried, losing his composure. "You need to understand you can't practice!"

He broke down into a mess of giggling, letting his legs decide where to walk. "Why would I need to practice? I've done this a million times!"

"Where are you gong? You've done _what_ a million times? Oh dear, I don't like that tone..."

"I'm very good at making people happy!"

"I'm going to ask again: What exactly are you planning?"

"No, look! There!" He half-pointed at a nervous-looking young man crossing the street a block or so away. "See? He's sick!"

Conscience closed his eyes in exhaustion. "He's not sick. He has a family history of heart problems and no left arm below the elbow."

"You're not the doctor here." He said firmly, frowning. "Be quiet! It's important to have follow-up appointments after the initial amputation!"

He shot up, a concerned look etched onto his face. "Wait...you don't mean to tell me—"

A clean incision!

"Sickness can spread fast around the body!" He stage-whispered, silently stepping closer. "I need to get rid of that arm!"

"You really, _really_ don't!"

He tucked the scalpel between his thighs and...ah!

"Gotcha!" He held the man up off the ground from under his arms as if he were a cat. He started wriggling as the good doctor tucked him under his elbow. With a vacant hum, he retrieved his scalpel and started his trot back to the alley.

"Thank you for being so quiet! In a hospital setting, it's courteous to keep a low volume in the waiting room."

"He's screaming and begging for his life. Can you not hear that?"

"I think you'll feel a lot better once I'm done with your follow-up!" Baldhead gently placed his patient on the ground, holding him there snugly. He gripped his scalpel with an expert hand. "You can trust me to make sure you feel alright! I'm very good at what I do!"

"M-Maybe I should just stop doing this." Conscience forced back a gag as the procedure began. "This happens every single time I try to intervene."

"Would you please not interrupt my work?" Baldhead pouted, though his hands stayed steady.

"You're not _working!"_

He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and pointing his nose up in defiance. "His tears of joy beg to differ, don't you think?"

Conscience curled into a ball. "Oh—Oh god. Is this hell? This is too much to be real at this point, this has to be some...horrible vision, conjured for me by Mephistopheles himself, or something. I'm just along for the rise."

"You're not that doctor yet!" Baldhead chirped.

"What?"

"What? Why are you asking me questions in the middle of a delicate procedure? Didn't you study this? No room for error or doubt!"

He sat there, staring into his knees, absolutely dumbfounded.

"Anyways, we're almost done!" He smiled, pushing the now successfully-removed upper arm chunk to the side. His face quickly turned sour. "Oh dear...this isn't good."

"What about this clued you in to that, exactly? I'd like to know."

Baldhead steeled his scalpel. "I thought I removed it in time, but...ah, no use letting it get any worse!"

Conscience shot up. "Wait, wait! I thought you were just getting rid of the arm? Why aren't you cleaning that, it'll get infected otherwise!"

"It seems to have spread to his heart." Baldhead said blankly, standing over the shivering man with no expression. "How sad it is, to lose a patient."

He stabbed the scalpel down into the patients heart and twisted _hard_ , cackling with an empty grin. "Ahaha! Oh no, oh no!" He rambled on, twisting and twisting and twisting a

Oh?

He stopped. He couldn't see Conscience anymore. With a vague amount of focus, he heard a retching noise from a few mental rooms over, and then a _click!_ as the spotlight went out.

"Oh well!" He pulled his scalpel of the hole he'd practically drilled into the ground. "He wasn't much help, anyways."

With a pep in his step and a minor pop of the back, Dr. Baldhead was off again!

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed .] (smiley face but its faust guiltygear) <3


End file.
